


Minutes from Midnight

by PepperPrints



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exercise in coercion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minutes from Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for dubious consent.

“N-Norman...”

Robert's eyes are very blue, wide and looking only a little frightened, only revealed as such when Norman brushes the curtain of hair away from his face. Robert tries to bend his head and hide again, but Norman does not allow it. Norman cups his face, urging it up and forcing Robert to meet his gaze, to stay in place when he leans up to press their lips together.

Robert gasps, a soft little puff of air against Norman's lips, and gives a quiet little sound, so obviously indecisive as his body sways toward and away from Norman's. Norman makes the choice for him, grabbing hold of Robert's hips and pulling. The moan Robert makes is satisfying, but far too vocal for the open hall, and Norman mutes it with another kiss.

Big hands settle on Norman's hips and he arches them when Robert's thumbs rub in slow circles. “Okay,” Robert concedes in a soft whisper, “okay... just – just for a little while?”

It will be hardly just that, but Norman says nothing to contradict. He lets Robert guide him back towards his room, the door nearly snapping closed on Robert's cape with how much worried rush he put into locking it shut. Norman resists a smile, moving pliantly as unsteady fingers tug his tie loose, and fumble free the buttons of his shirt.

“I just--,” begins Robert, his voice wavering as much as his hands. “I just want to –“

Norman needs no justification, and he knows it isn't exactly for him. Robert wants to justify this to himself, this little betrayal and infidelity. Norman quiets that too, teeth digging into Robert's lower lip and drawing out a startled sound. Robert does pull back a little then, blue eyes wide, and Norman grins fiercely, burying his fingers deep into gold hair and dragging Robert close again.

Robert does not resist when Norman claims his mouth, alternating tongue and teeth, but he does make a fretful sound when Norman's hands pull and twist at fistfuls of his hair. It's not a pained noise, that idea is a laughable thought, but Robert is nonetheless distressed by the sentiment behind it.

“You don't need to be so...” he starts, having some trouble finishing even one sentence since this began. “So...”

Until Robert manages to string one thought together, Norman will remain untroubled by it. It is easy to imagine why such gestures would concern him. Trying to imagine him acting like this with his wife, or she giving this to him, simply did not seem likely.

It is not a thought Norman likes to linger on either.

He tangles locks of hair between his fingers and pulls, hard enough to crane Robert's head back, and he sets his mouth on the bared flesh of his throat, biting and sucking and seeking to mark flesh that was invulnerable.

“Norman--!” moans Robert in a mixture of shock and pleasure, his fingers scrabbling uselessly under his opened shirt, trying to grab onto him and somehow seeming to fear it. “T-that's not--!”

Not necessary, perhaps, is the idea that Robert means to say, but Norman likes it nonetheless. Between having Robert obediently tip his head back and yanking him into the pose himself, the latter has a more primal appeal.

“Pick me up,” Norman demands suddenly, and Robert is still for only a beat before he obliges him. Strong hands grab hold, lifting him as if he weighed nothing at all, and Norman wraps muscular thighs around Robert's waist.

Robert shudders wildly, stumbling back a step, but he keeps his balance. “Ah,” exhales Robert softly, one hand inching up higher on Norman's thigh, building the nerve to settle against his ass and push, encouraging the friction that comes when Norman rolls his hips.

Norman shivers in reply, back arching and lips grinning. “Yes,” hisses Norman, his fingers pulling and twisting at Robert's hair as he fights for kisses from Robert's panting lips. The noises Robert makes are soft and almost scared – not of Norman but of another voice the man doesn't dare name – when he rocks back with him.

“Shouldn't--” manages Robert between nips of Norman's teeth, “aah-- please...?”

Robert likely doesn't even know what he is asking for, but Norman is happy to provide regardless. “Down,” he murmurs against Robert's lips, and how quickly Robert drops seems to betray how little strength remains in his legs.

Norman takes a moment, looking at Robert as he lay submissive and pliant underneath him. His chest is heaving with breaths he likely does not even need, his hair spread out on the floor, not carrying a single tangle despite how Norman dug through it with greedy fingers. His lips aren't swollen. His neck is pale and perfect. There is no evidence that Norman even touched him at all.

The idea sends a certain rush through Norman's blood, and he descends of Robert again. He bites down hard on Robert's throat, hard enough to taste blood on another man, but from Robert there is nothing. He cries out all the same, and Norman takes what pleasure he can in that, to make up for what he's been denied.

Robert's hands are on his ass again, encouraging him as he thrusts down against Robert's shaking body. Robert arches, trying to meet Norman's rhythm through his trembling, the heels of his boots scraping against the floor as he struggles for purchase.

“Norman--” gasps Robert, voice almost a whine. “N-Norman, wait-- wait...!”

That is hardly an option now. Norman is only encouraged to move harder, drawing out Robert's moans until they peak and Robert clutches tight at his body with a fragile little cry. Norman tips his head back, gives a breathless laugh, and his hips keep moving as Robert shakes wildly underneath him.

In an instant, before he can even predict the shift, Norman is on his back. Teeth are on his throat. Hands are under his clothes. One muscled thigh is between his own and he rides back on it with a fractured moan. He's not laughing now, but being laughed at instead, and the sound is unearthly, sending shivers up his spine.

Norman doesn't speak Robert's name when he comes, because he is no longer certain this is Robert at his side.

Norman is left panting softly, struggling to steady out his breathing, and the body slumped limp on top of his own does the same. He slides one strong hand up a muscular back, and when it trembles so softly, Norman becomes aware of Robert again. 

“Oh...” moans Robert, sounding thick and dizzy. “N-Norman...”

Norman appeases himself with brushing his fingers through golden hair, feeling satisfied when Robert whimpers, pliant again. Yes, that is indeed Robert. 

Whatever force pinned him down and brought him to climax has passed as quickly as it showed itself.

What a pity.


End file.
